Tizenöt
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world, four moments they kept to themselves, three times they said nothing, two times Hungary needed Austria, and one time Austria did something about it.
1. 5: 8 June 1867

Author's note: This story is 15 moments in the lives of Austria and Hungary, as broken down in the subtitle. I'm writing it out of order to get the historical points as accurate as possible while I research, so as I finish the next moment in sequence I'll upload it. I just couldn't wait to start sharing now.

I'm uploading each moment as it's own chapter for your reading ease and convenience. Each set of moments also gets a line from my favorite sonnet, Shakespeare's Sonnet 116. Don't worry, I'll repeat the set title with each chapter. I hope you enjoy.

If any of my German is incorrect, message me and I'll update it. I do my best mais je parle français et anglais.

I'll also be bumping up the story rating as the chapters progress. Last moment we do this M style, because these two don't get enough loving.

* * *

><p><strong>Tizenöt:<br>**Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world,  
>Four moments they kept to themselves,<br>Three times they said nothing,  
>Two times Hungary needed Austria,<br>And one time Austria did something about it

* * *

><p><em>Let me not to the marriage of true minds<br>__Admit impediments._

Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world

**8 June 1867**

When she was little, Elizabeta used to run up and down the large rooms in Buda Castle; such childish activities wouldn't be possible wearing the dress she had been put into for today.

It wasn't that today wouldn't be good for her country; she knew it would be. Hungary would get back some of the autonomy they had lost over centuries, and be able to regain some of the importance it had once held in the world. That would be nice.

And the new queen of Hungary was lovely; Elizabeta was so glad she was waiting with her. Elizabeta quickly learned that the Austrian empress loved Hungary more than she had ever loved Austria, which had caused the Hungarian country to snicker. All of the ladies-in-waiting were Hungarian, like Elizabeta, and they all spoke in Hungarian as well. Which was helping to calm the country's nerves.

"Elizabeta, come here please my darling," the queen asked gently. Elizabeta obliged her, turning from the window where people were beginning to gather, to join her new ruler.

As she made the short journey, Elizabeta caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair had been piled high on her head, with jewels pinned here and there. Her dress was gorgeous, all white, every bit feminine, which only made her feel like an impostor. But it sparkled when she moved, along with the elegant jewelry that adorned her skin, and she liked that part.

The queen held out her hands, which Elizabeta took gratefully. "Are you nervous?" she whispered in Hungarian.

She allowed herself a small, nervous laugh. "A little? Should I be?"

A gentle squeeze of the hands. "Nein. No, Mr. Edelstein is reserved but good. He will demand nothing of you, and expect nothing in return."

"But-" That one word had left her lips before she could stop it. The queen raised an eyebrow on her young face; Elizabeta would have to continue. "But what if he does not like me?"

As the doors to the room were opened by a servant, the queen laughed. It did not make Elizabeta feel any better.

When the women were escorted from the room, the ladies-in-waiting accompanying them, the queen linked her arms with Elizabeta. "My darling, you have nothing to fear. I hear that Mr. Edelstein is already quite taken with you, though he will most likely not admit to such things. But he is Austrian and feels he must uphold a certain standard; do not be discouraged. Once you are married, you may spend all your time with me, while he stays with the emperor."

* * *

><p>Married, Roderich thought as he sat next to the piano. He was going to be married. Not now, of course; during the day would be the coronation of the Emperor of Austria as the King of Hungary. The wedding was set some time later in the evening, an event Roderich could not be excited for.<p>

The room he was in was large and beautiful decorated. A servant finished setting out tea he would be too nervous to drink before bowing and leaving, the door closing behind her. He was finally alone to think.

Days had taken to both flying by and dragging painfully slow. Some days Roderich wanted to get the wedding over with quickly, to save himself the embarrassment he knew he'd feel when he met his new wife, when she realized she didn't like him, when she'd leave him and never see him again. Other days he tried to make time stand still, to still hold onto the thought that maybe, if they could have had more time, she would actually like him.

He had been kind to her, hadn't he? In the past they had never quite been equals, and, never being a great talker, he had spent little time with her. Once, she had told him she enjoyed hearing him play the piano; Roderich's response was to tell her to stop wasting time when the house needed sweeping.

Face met palm. No, he hadn't been kind.

* * *

><p>As they approached the bottom of the staircase, Elizabeta's heart began beating faster and faster. No one had ever noticed her this way before; and clearly, no one had ever noticed the way she had looked at Roderich Edelstein before.<p>

The coronation had taken place without her presence; after it was over, the new queen had come to Elizabeta's room. Elizabeta had been afraid everyone would be angry with her, but the young queen had simply smiled and said it was alright to be nervous on her wedding day, and to not want to be seen until the wedding.

But there was still one more hurdle to overcome before the wedding, one that could not be avoided: the new king and queen would be presented to the public in Budapest, along with the to-be-married countries.

She had practiced this for days to ensure it went over smoothly. She'd take Roderich's arm, and together they would follow the royal couple onto the balcony, where they would wave and be presented, before being whisked away to the church to be married. After that she could return to the queen. She did not have to stay. Everything would be fine.

At the bottom of the staircase the emperor had already taken his wife's arm, and was leading her to the balcony. And there he stood, staring at his feet, that Austrian country she had both dreaded and looked forward to seeing again.

Her foot stepped off the bottom step; the moment hung in the air as she looked at him, his head coming up to finally take her in. Outside the crowds were cheering. No one was watching them; no one else saw the look on his face. No one else heard him say two words she almost thought he hadn't said.

"Verlockend schön." Beautiful.

Air caught in her lungs and she leaned forward, towards Roderich, towards something she yearned for but could not have. He caught Elizabeta's arms, steading her, a fire burning in his eyes as he took her in.

Behind them an official cleared his throat.

With that, the moment was gone. Roderich took her arm, linking it with his. The Hungarian sighed inwardly; how perfectly the two limbs fit together.

"Are you ready?" the man asked in nervous Hungarian, his Austrian accent too thick to be convincing.

"Ja," she replied, taking one last look at those caring violet eyes before turning her head forward, set on what she must do.

* * *

><p>The crowd cheered loudly as they stepped forward. Roderich watched men take off their hats, women put down their parasols. Children were dancing.<p>

In all his years, this was something altogether too much for him. To his right, he knew the king stood, ready to retire for the day as soon as possible. To his left, his bride waved warmly at her people.

There was an affection in those green eyes, a love that made him jealous. She looked beautiful in the low sun, her hair radiant, her jewels glistening. But it was that smile and those eyes that he would always remember.

It was the way she looked at him, noticing him and giving his hand a squeeze, so caught up in the moment, that he would always remember.


	2. 5: 12 February 1921

Author's note: I just saw the cutest AusHun picture ever, now I feel more motivated to keep going. Plus the next chapter is one of the only happy ones I haven't written yet.

* * *

><p><strong>Tizenöt:<strong>  
><span>Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world,<span>  
><span>Four moments they kept to themselves,<span>  
><span>Three times they said nothing,<span>  
><span>Two times Hungary needed Austria,<span>  
><span>And one time Austria did something about it<span>

* * *

><p><em>Let me not to the marriage of true minds<br>__Admit impediments._

Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world

**12 February 1921**

It was a small room in the house. Elizabeta had lost track of how much time had passed since the servant had escorted her in here, leaving her to wait for her once-husband.

It had been her own request. Elizabeta remembered Roderich talking about his marriage to Antonio, all the things he wished he'd done. He had wished he could have talked to Antonino more, privately, before the countries went forth with plans involving both of them.

And so here she was, waiting in Roderich's tea room for him to come so that they could talk.

Elizabeta had spent weeks preparing for today, picking out dresses, changing her mind, going over what she would say over and over again.

Yet it all flew out the window as always when Roderich entered the room.

* * *

><p>He was tired. Exhausted. Completely spent. If he was honest with himself, Roderich would have marveled at how he was still going; he was on the verge of collapse, his body too sick to keep going.<p>

And there she was, dressed in white. Just like on their wedding day. Elizabeta's hair was pinned back just the way he'd always loved, her gloves a gift he had given her several years earlier. Her face lit up when she saw him, and though she made to stand, Roderich motioned for her to sit.

This was something that had to be gotten over quickly, so that he could move on with his life, a life without his beloved wife. Sitting himself across from her, Roderich could only look at the table. He knew, deep down, that he still loved her, still cared for her more than anything else. At night he laid awake thinking about her. He had nightmares of her falling in love with anyone else, of other men having their way with his Erzsi. But then the morning would come, and Roderich had to remember:

She wasn't his to have anymore. Maybe she never was.

"What do you want?" he asked coolly.

* * *

><p>She had expected at least some pleasantries before the standoffish Austrian's nature showed itself. "Roderich…" she started sweetly, smiling at him.<p>

When his eyes came up to meet hers for the first time, she didn't recognize them. Never had they ever been so dead, so uncaring. She had done everything right, always followed his lead: she had signed the divorce papers, just as he wanted; she had stayed away, just as he wanted; and now she was meeting privately first, just as he had said he wanted.

"Roderich, please…" One gloved hand reached out for his. Roderich's hand tensed before he pulled away from her curled fingers, moving back in his chair and gazing out the window. It broke her Hungarian heart.

All those promises of no tears were immediately broken as she began to sob.

"I never wanted this…" she moaned.

"Yes, well," he muttered, fingers blocking his mouth as he leaned on his hand. "This is the way it works. Another wedding ring for my collection; I wonder how many more I shall collect."

Her heart froze. How could he say such things? He had told her about Antonino, told her about his past and what he felt. Roderich had whispered into the night how she made him feel different, made him feel like a man, made him feel loved. They had been so happy for so many years; when had it come to this?

"I do hope," he began again, and Elizabeta almost missed the words, wiping tears from her face with the back of her hand, "that you do not cry when we reestablish relations. It would be terribly embarrassing I feel."

"Yeah, well." She wanted to hurt him, cut him the way he was cutting out her heart. "I hope your piano doesn't tire of you, as it's the only thing left in this house that loves you."

His reaction was swift, eyes widened, head snapping to her. Elizabeta gave him her best smirk, superiority flowing through her. She knew his weaknesses better than he did, knew his fear of being alone; he stared at her, and she knew she had won.

* * *

><p>She rose quietly, still staring him in the eyes, smirking, before turning and leaving the room.<p>

Roderich had been cool, but that had been cruel.

All his fears from years earlier came flooding back, fears of her coming to hate him, to realize he was nothing and leave, fears of being alone. Now his fears had come true, and he knew it was his own doing.

Out the window children laughed on the street. When had it all gone wrong? he wondered.


	3. 5: 8 June 1867 later

Author's note: I think I had originally intended for this to be sadder and for everything to be more drawn out, but then I realized I had picked fewer happy moments then sad ones and so I decided to change it.

Also I'd apologize for not writing more of the wedding, but I'm about as far from Catholic as you can get, so... you get this. No regrets!

* * *

><p><strong>Tizenöt:<strong>  
><span>Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world,<span>  
><span>Four moments they kept to themselves,<span>  
><span>Three times they said nothing,<span>  
><span>Two times Hungary needed Austria,<span>  
><span>And one time Austria did something about it<span>

* * *

><p><em>Let me not to the marriage of true minds<br>__Admit impediments._

Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world

**8 June 1867**

It was an elaborate wedding. They both knew it would be. But that didn't make them any less anxious.

* * *

><p>After their presentation on the balcony, Roderich escorted Elizabeta back inside, where servants brought them down to a carriage. There they paused, and the queen, whom Roderich hadn't noticed had followed, leaned in to ask Elizabeta something.<p>

The Hungarian country bit her lower lip, thinking, before looking at Roderich. It was such a childish thing, and part of him wanted to scold her, but another part wanted to kiss her, roughly, forcefully. He blinked, realizing that he had been staring; Elizabeta, however, whispered something to the queen before holding out a hand to Roderich, who obliged and helped her into the closed carriage. Roderich followed, and soon the door was closed and the two countries were on their way to the wedding.

The idea, it had been explained to Roderich, was to allow them to talk for several minutes on the way to the cathedral. It was actually something he had mentioned in passing after his marriage to Antonio, which had been much less extravagant but nonetheless a real marriage: that he would have liked a few minutes to talk before the ceremony.

Roderich and his stupid mouth.

He looked out the window, at crowds that cheered on the short way from the castle to the cathedral. He had made the trip this morning, with the emperor, but it had had less of a sense of foreboding.

The Austrian chanced a sideways look at his bride, who seemed to be fidgeting with her hands. Without meaning to he reached a hand out to stop her, lacing her right hand in with his left.

What had possessed him to do that? He blushed, making as if to pull away, but stopped when Elizabeta's other hand came to cup his. She looked at him and smiled weakly.

"Do you like to hold hands?" she asked lightly.

"I-" The truth was, he wasn't sure. "I do not know."

Elizabeta's body seemed to relax a bit as the conversation carried on, and Roderich realized he too was relaxing at it. This was nice.

"Well, do you like holding my hand?" Her face flushed a little.

"Yes, I do."

A smile before she looked out the window, turning back to her groom as the carriage made a turn. "We are just outside the cathedral," she informed him.

There was something to the way she said it, a little too longingly, a little too pained, that Roderich couldn't help but feel he understood. It was the same thing he felt, the same anxiety: he liked her but was afraid she didn't like him.

Roderich leaned in a bit, unsure of if he had the courage to do this. But Elizabeta, too, leaned toward him, her eyes fluttering close, her lips parting. Roderich could smell flowers, could feel her warmth, as his lips brushed hers-

And the carriage came to a sudden stop, jostling them back, away from each other, away from the missed kiss.

* * *

><p>Elizabeta had requested that Feliciano walk her down the isle. After Roderich and the other Austrians went in to the ceremony, Elizabeta sat, her heart starting to race. Feliciano took her hand.<p>

"You're getting married!" he whispered, his face lighting up.

"I know…" she started, somewhere between delight and fear.

Feliciano sat beside her, careful to not tread on her dress. "Do you still like him?"

She smirked at that; it seemed all the countries but Roderich knew she loved him. "Yes... but what is he doesn't like me?"

Feliciano laughed, standing as an official came in.

"What's so funny you?" They followed the official out of the room, preparing to make their way down the isle.

Feliciano linked arms with Elizabeta, kissing her cheek. "Because he loves you too of course, and you're the only one who doesn't know!"

* * *

><p>Roderich had been through the motions before, but the sight of Elizabeta coming down the isle was still something altogether unexpected. True, they had just spent time together, and he knew what she looked like. But there was a radiance to her face as she looked at him, almost laughing, joyful. Feliciano was the one to hand her off, before sitting beside a very put-off looking Gilbert, whom Roderich distinctly recalled not inviting.<p>

Yet for all that he remembered, this was different. Elizabeta's body was warm beside his, the light streaming in from the setting sun glistening on her gown and hair, highlighting her body.

When she said her vows, she recited them in German, something Roderich had not been expecting. He remembered the king fussing about how the queen carried on so much of her affairs in Hungarian, and how he'd be damned if the Hungarian nation got to say her vows in Hungarian. But somehow Roderich had thought this resilient woman whom had defeated and humiliated him so many times before would do so again; it seemed she had let go of some of her defiance in their time apart.

Pulling back the veil, Roderich could feel hundreds of eyes fall upon his face, waiting to see what he would do. His wife. All his. She beamed up at him, her green eyes sparkling, and Roderich could almost believe that she was, in that moment, in love with him.

Somewhere behind him the priest announced them as man and wife, Mister and Mrs. Roderich Edelstein. The Austrian nation made his decision.

* * *

><p>His lips were soft, his kiss chaste. He held Elizabeta's hands tight before pulling back and smiling. She turned to the priest, waiting for him to announce them, but Roderich took her arm and led her away; she must have missed it, she supposed. She had been rather caught up in the moment, the look in Roderich's violet eyes.<p>

Strangers' eyes followed her as she smiled at friends, holding onto her husband's arm, as they processed from the church. She hoped he liked kissing her just as much as he liked holding hands. Because Elizabeta had.


	4. 5: 8 June 1917

Author's note: I struggled for so long with what to write for this chapter, but the other day it came to me. So here you go, not a care in the world, no idea of what's to come.

* * *

><p><strong>Tizenöt:<strong>  
><span>Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world,<span>  
><span>Four moments they kept to themselves,<span>  
><span>Three times they said nothing,<span>  
><span>Two times Hungary needed Austria,<span>  
><span>And one time Austria did something about it<span>

* * *

><p><em>Let me not to the marriage of true minds<br>__Admit impediments._

Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world

**8 June 1917**

It was nothing big, what with the war going. French and Italian troops were moving against the war and being punished. Soldiers were being drafted in the United States. Germany would be bombing London in a few days; who knew how many would be left dead?

So their fiftieth wedding anniversary was a small thing, in a tent far away from the battlefield. They had invited some of their closer officials to join them, the ones who made Roderich laugh instead of sneering at him, the ones that thought nothing of Elizabeta changing from a military uniform to ball gown.

The table had been laden with the best food and wine that Roderich could get his hands on, candles illuminating the scene romantically. He had one arm on the back of Elizabeta's chair, his wife's head on his shoulder. The night was drawing to a close, the sun quickly setting behind them.

"Show us the ring!" one of the women demanded in German, her Hungarian accent thick. Roderich, too happy and perhaps too tipsy, laughed deeply as Elizabeta held up her hand.

The heart-shaped diamond sparkled in the candlelight, the two emeralds on either side still the same green of his wife's eyes. Those two teardrops would always symbolize the sorrow he knew was in his wife's heart that he wanted to take from her, filling her heart with love and happiness.

"So romantic!" another woman laughed, and the whole table joined in.

Roderich threw his head back. Fuck the war going on outside. Fuck the pain and the loss and the stupidity of all of this. What were they fighting for anyway? This had all been an excuse for a war that Roderich hadn't even wanted. He hated wars, was over them and never wanted to fight again. Men came and went, always thinking they knew better. Fuck them; they'd be dead soon anyway. War spared no one.

"Any regrets?" one of the men asked, leaning forward and hiccuping. A low whisper went about the room, all eyes snapping to Roderich, who eyed the man. They both snorted then, another laugh filling the tent.

He looked down at the woman in his arm, her eyes bright in the evening light. "Any?" Erzsi asked deviously, one hand creeping up his chest, unbuttoning a button to slip under his shirt. The women giggled, the men banging the table. Roderich pulled Erzsi to him quickly, devouring her lips with his own. He knew he was drunk, never would have done this before others on any other day. But today, today he had decided he would be happy.

Fifty years with the only person who had ever made his heart feel like this.

"No regrets," he moaned, breaking the kiss. Everyone clapped.

"How about this?" one of the Hungarian women asked, sitting on an Austrian's lap. "Any wishes for the future?"

"Oh!" both nations said at once, looking from her to each other.

Cradling her sweet face in his hands, Roderich took in Erzsi for a moment before saying, "I hope that you will love me forever, as I will always love you." The women sighed.

Erzsi took his hands in hers, smiling from ear to ear. "When you loves someone, you love them forever." She stole a kiss. "So of course I will love you forever," she muttered, wrapping her arms about his neck.

"How about you, Mrs. Edelstein? Anything you want from this old man?" The Austrian official pulled the Hungarian closer to him as she sat on his lap.

Roderich felt her looking into his eyes, looking deep, as if she was trying to see his soul. There was something in her gaze, something that frightened and excited him. She could unnerve him so easily, make him question everything he thought he had ever known.

"I want to be with you forever," she whispered.

Forever… they could have forever, could really have forever. And he would love her each and every day, never wanted her to doubt how much he loved her and would always love her, no matter what happened. No matter what this war did, no matter what the war after that would do, he would always love her.

As they kissed, pulling each other tightly, her hands at his neck, his on her back, the officials toasted. "To the Edelsteins, and another fifty years!"

Fifty years.

Forever.


	5. 5: 1 May 2004

Author's note: Pretty sure this was the first moment I wrote. These two will forever be awkward together.

* * *

><p><strong>Tizenöt:<strong>  
><span>Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world,<span>  
><span>Four moments they kept to themselves,<span>  
><span>Three times they said nothing,<span>  
><span>Two times Hungary needed Austria,<span>  
><span>And one time Austria did something about it<span>

* * *

><p><em>Let me not to the marriage of true minds<br>__Admit impediments._

Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world

**1 May 2004**

Roderich knew this day had been approaching for months, but that didn't make him feel any better when he awoke. He had tried to lay out clothes he thought would be appropriate the night before, something out of character for him to do; he wanted to look presentable, but not like he had tried to look it.

Which he had, for only the second time in his life.

But as he laid in bed, looking up at the ceiling, his alarm clock ringing more and more loudly, he sighed. What was he doing? It was like it was 1867 all over again.

He turned his head to stop the alarm, but paused when he caught sight of the lone photo on the night stand: a too-skinny Austrian man, wearing too-big clothes and too-hideous glasses, stood behind a beautiful Hungarian woman, her dress's skirt as full of character as she had always been, her smile radiating even after a century of being frozen in time. He fingered the frame of the photo before attending to the clock.

Roderich had learned long again that Elizabeta was always right, and when she had said they would be in love forever…

There was a small party after all the papers were signed. Roderich had meant to smile as he nodded to each of the new members of the European Union, but that never seemed to happen. He had been making his way around the room, trying to find Ludwig to at least speak to someone before leaving, when he saw her.

Elizabeta had clearly changed for the party, from her respectable suit to a more traditional Hungarian dress. Her hair was down, and she seemed to radiate happiness as she made her way around the room. When Ludwig reached Roderich, who had stopped in his track, she was greeting Francis and Antonio.

"She looks good," Ludwig whispered. Roderich was glad for the discretion, but kept on staring.

"She always looks good."

If he had been paying attention, perhaps Roderich would have seen Ludwig look at him with a sort of pity and comprehension. He would have seen those blue eyes soften as they looked towards Feliciano, who was engaged in a conversation with his brother. "I guess, some feelings... never change."

* * *

><p>Elizabeta laughed at Francis's joke, pushing her hair back. This was nice; this was freeing. Normally she would have wanted to hit Francis over the head, and to tell Antonio to stop being so damn happy. But today she too was happy. Simply happy.<p>

"Don't look now," Antonio said, moving to stand between Francis and Elizabeta, "but I think you have an admirer." There was a coy smile playing on his lips that made her laugh.

"Oh, ma cherie!" Francis whispered, leaning in. "But you do, this is no laughing matter."

"I shall see you two later then, if I do have an admirer to attend to." She smiled as they walked away, turning to see who they were talking about.

Roderich didn't even try to divert his gaze when she caught him. As in a trance she approached him, not sure why she was surprised, not sure why he seemed to care so much. Not sure why her stomach was filling with butterflies.

There was a moment of silence where neither country spoke. The Austrian cleared his throat.

"Gratulálok," he offered. Congratulations; Hungarian, his Austrian accent as thick as ever.

"Danke."

They both blushed at that. Elizabeta had tried so hard to learn German for their wedding, that when that night he had spoken to her in Hungarian with that accent- oh, curse the butterflies in her stomach, screw the other nations in the room. Elizabeta took the step forward, but it was Roderich who put his hand behind her head. Their kiss silenced the room, which paused briefly before resuming the various conversations.

"So," Roderich said, blushing, after they had pulled apart.

"So," Elizabeta replied, blushing as well. "Same time, same place, tonight as usual?"


	6. 4: 8 June 1869

Author's note: Mixing it up a bit with what most people think of these two.

* * *

><p><strong>Tizenöt:<strong>  
><span>Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world,<span>  
><span>Four moments they kept to themselves,<span>  
><span>Three times they said nothing,<span>  
><span>Two times Hungary needed Austria,<span>  
><span>And one time Austria did something about it<span>

* * *

><p><em>Love is not love<br>__Which alters when it alteration finds,  
><em>_Or bends with the remover to remove:_

Four moments they kept to themselves

**8 June 1869**

Their first wedding had not been by choice; everything had been told to them, and they were to simply follow along. The second time, Roderich and Elizabeta did things a little differently.

Elizabeta had been the one who wanted their wedding to be on their anniversary, and Roderich, too in love to say no, had cancelled all his plans to make his way to the small Hungarian town where his wife now lived.

For two years they had been married as countries, but they were not legally married as people. Their marriage certificate bore only their official country names; somehow, it had never been enough for the two people who had signed it.

Unsurprisingly, Elizabeta had been the first one to make a move once they were married, having asked Roderich to accompany her on a walk one day several weeks after the first wedding. Had he known at the time what Feliciano had told her, the proud Austrian might not have been so tensed. But his wife had smiled and blushed and chatted away the day. When he walked her back to her room, she kissed his cheek. Roderich knew the next move was his.

And so, for about a year, they had courted in private. The emperor always seemed suspicious of the amount of time Roderich spent in Hungary, or spent with the queen, whom Elizabeta had a tendency of following. But the gentleman in Roderich could not let Elizabeta be the one to travel miles so they could be together.

Four months prior to the second wedding, the emperor had cornered Roderich and asked what was going on. He confessed uneasily that he loved Elizabeta, that he had for a while, but that they were both in love now and simply wanted to spend time together. The emperor had laughed.

"That will pass soon enough Edelstein."

But it hadn't. When Roderich proposed in the garden, Elizabeta cried, holding him tightly as she said yes, over and over again. It was the first time Roderich had dared to steal a kiss since the first wedding, but it had been very much worth it.

So now Roderich found himself riding out to the house by the lake that Elizabeta had spoken of so often. Taking in the sight as it approached, he smiled.

The wedding would be small, private. Very few things a country did could be private, and the couple did not want to miss their opportunity for this. At first they had considered inviting other nations, countries they had been close with. But the truth was only Feliciano was left who mattered to both of them, and he was too young and naïve for them to have seen bringing him out here, not knowing if officials would barge in and try to stop them. No, it had been better to let Feliciano be, and he had understood when Elizabeta had written him. He had wished them luck, sent Elizabeta flowers he picked from his garden, and so the guest list was set at two.

* * *

><p>Staring out the window, she watched him approach on horseback. Roderich's things had arrived earlier in the day with his carriage, but for once, it seemed, her Austrian husband had decided to do something for himself.<p>

Not that it mattered to her, Elizabeta sighed inwardly, waving as he approached the house. He waved back, blowing a kiss that made Elizabeta blush. Servants went out to meet him, and so Elizabeta retired to dress for the wedding.

Unlike the elaborate Austrian-style dress she had been forced to wear two years earlier, Elizabeta picked a simple dress, with as small a skirt as her seamstress had deemed proper. It was still white, but there were red flowers sewn into the bottom of the skirt, swirling about to form little Austrian flags. Along with the dress Elizabeta picked a bracelet Roderich had given her the previous Christmas, the jewels forming a Hungarian flag. There was no makeup, no elaborate jewels or hairdos this time; just Elizabeta, her dress, and the bracelet.

* * *

><p>Roderich went through the entry hall to the back garden, where the priest was sitting, reading from his Bible. As Roderich approached he stood, which made the nation laugh.<p>

"Sir, you may sit, this is nothing too formal."

The priest took in Roderich, perhaps too calm for the preceding events, before showing Roderich where to stand and preparing the altar that had been made for today. Several servants watched from windows.

They waited.

* * *

><p>Elizabeta stepped out the back door, taking in the man before her. For the first time in his, Roderich was dressed properly, his normally too-old fashion clothing having been replaced with something simple and in style: jacket, pants, a neat shirt with a tie. It made her giggle as she walked down the aisle.<p>

He came out to meet her, taking one hand and kissing it. "What is so funny my dear?" he whispered as they approached the altar.

"You look very nice," she responded. He kissed her hand again.

"For you."

The priest took them both in before beginning, the servants having now opened the windows to lean out and listen. This time Elizabeta said her vows in Hungarian, which made her groom laugh. He dutifully repeated his in German, smiling at her the whole time. All the tenseness, all the impersonality and stiffness from the first wedding was gone, replaced by an ease that made Elizabeta's heart beat faster. These were not just motions she had been told to do, something to make her country stronger with the help of another. This was her Roderich, placing a ring on her hand; not something that had been given to him, something that lacked character, but a ring he had clearly picked out himself, with a diamond cut in the shape of a heart, two tear-shaped emeralds on either side of it.

The ring she had chosen for Roderich was simple, solid gold, nothing more from the outside. The one from the first marriage, the one the emperor had sent her to give his nation, had been too elaborate. This one, Elizabeta knew, was better suited for him: not too flashy, not too ridiculous, just plain and beautiful. Inside she had had inscribed, "Ich liebe dich -Elizabeta".

When the priest stepped back, having finished the service, Roderich stepped forward, taking her head in his hands and kissing her deeply. Elizabeta's eyes fluttered closed, leaning in to his touch. Somewhere servants cheered before closing the windows, returning to their duties before retiring for the night. One came out to thank the priest and escort him to the gate. Roderich held her tight.

"Elizabeta," he murmured into her hair, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. He smelled sweet up close, like chocolate, which she always giggled at. Her arms wrapped around his waist, inhaling deeply, before responding.

"Liebling?"

"Ja?"

"Call me Erzsi."

Roderich pulled back to look at her, his eyes shining in the setting sun. Somewhere a flock of birds took off, the sound of their wings rattling the branches they had previously occupied as they flew high into the sky. He seemed uncertain, then smiled shyly.

"Erzsi." The way the word fell from his lips, the way his eyes changed, his whole composure, made her fall back into his arms, finding his mouth in another kiss. She pulled his head down to hers as strong arms wrapped around her sides, pulling her tightly to him. This time the kiss was searing, the passion inside the Hungarian bride building quickly. Her fingers pulled at his hair, thankful the servants had already left, though not quite caring if one chanced to find them like this. In response her groom pulled her closer even, something hard pressing into her stomach.

She broke the kiss, no air left in her lungs. Breathing quickly, she felt his lips find her ear and whisper, "I want you Erzsi."

* * *

><p>Once in the bedroom, Roderich threw Elizabeta on the bed. He knew the other nations thought little of him, made fun of his seeming lack of sexual prowess, but that didn't bother him. Because he knew the truth was that he was simply a private man whom had been in love for so long with one woman, that no other had come close, no other had tempted him for so long.<p>

His beautiful bride blushed, reaching up to stroke his cheek. Roderich positioned himself between her legs, leaning over and kissing her deeply; this time his tongue came to demand entry into her mouth, to explore her deeply. His hands began to roam across her chest when she pulled back, her face completely red.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, kissing her neck.

"Roderich, I…" She tensed at the kiss, pushing him back slightly.

"Tell me, Elizabeta, what is it?" he whispered in Hungarian, knowing full well his accent was still too thick. She laughed softly, which made him smile.

She seemed to relax for a moment, looking him in the eye, before asking, "Since when do you speak Hungarian?" He knew it wasn't what she had originally intended to say, but at least she was talking.

It was his turn to blush slightly. Roderich knew she had spent the last two years learning German, taking lessons from tutors and reading as many books as she could in German. When she spoke to him in German, it was always practiced, a slight accent present, but not Hungarian. She had clearly hired tutors from Vienna, and so her accent matched his.

When he realized what she had done, the time and effort she had put into learning about his country, about his people, even down to speaking the way he did, he knew he had to do something in return for Elizabeta.

"I learned it for you," he murmured.

* * *

><p>Knowing he had learned Hungarian for her made Elizabeta relax, Roderich smiling down at her. This wasn't easy for her; all her life she had been with men, but she had always been one of them. Roderich had been the first man to come to see her as a woman, as something fragile that was to be treated gently. And she liked that about him, liked that he was kind and sweet with her. Part of her enjoyed being the strong warrior she had been in the past; when she had started to act her "part" as a woman, it had been bizarre and uncomfortable. But Roderich, oh, only he was allowed to treat her like this, to see her like this.<p>

Which was why she had spent the past week nervously pacing about, unsure of what she would do on the wedding night. On the one hand she knew Roderich wouldn't make her do anything she didn't want. He had always been considerate of her feelings, always waited for her to show him it was ok before he did something. The queen had been right; he demanded nothing of her, and expected nothing in return.

On the other hand, she did love him. Elizabeta had never loved anyone before Roderich, and knew she would never love anyone after him. He was special, different from all the other men, all the other nations. She loved Feliciano, who was sweet and good and caring, but she wasn't in love with him. She mildly cared for Gilbert, who spent most days talking about himself, but she couldn't imagine being stuck with him for any period of time over two hours. Antonio had been a sweetheart when she met him, and Francis was someone to flirt with, but none of them could compare. None of them did to her heart what Roderich did.

After over a hundred years of being in love with Roderich, Elizabeta wanted to know what it was like. To be with a man. To feel him inside her, to feel open and naked to someone else in the most intimate way.

Thing was, everything Elizabeta knew about sex was second-hand. Her first kiss had been at her first wedding, unexpected as it had been. The first time she held hands with another man had been Roderich in the carriage. Oh, she knew the gist of it, how the mechanics of sex worked. And she wanted to know more, to experience it for herself, with her caring husband. She looked up into those concerned eyes that watched her, his hands holding hers. Roderich she trusted, more than anyone else. But that didn't make this any less embarrassing.

"I'm a- I'm a virgin," she whispered, the words seeming to echo throughout the room.

Roderich stood still, nothing in his expression changing as he looked at her. Part of Elizabeta was afraid he hadn't heard her, that she'd have to repeat those embarrassing words. Then he leaned down, pulling her into his arms.

"We do not have to do this," he said in Hungarian, "if you do not want to." She could still feel him, his hardness pressing into her leg. She knew he wanted her, but she also knew he would understand if she said no. But she had made up her mind days earlier; it was now or never.

His face was still buried in her hair when she whispered, "Be gentle."

* * *

><p>Her breathing began to still while he held her in his arms, her head on his still-pounding heart. Roderich pulled the cover up over her, stroking her hair.<p>

They laid like that for a while, Roderich replaying the day in his mind, over and over: her little smiles, the kisses, the sex.… He thought she had fallen asleep by then.

Elizabeta put her chin on his chest, looking up at him. Her body covered him partially, her breasts pushing into his side. She smiled.

His wife.

"Roderich," her tone playful, "you seem to be getting hard again." There was still a blush, but it was much less than earlier in the night.

"Yes, well," he laughed. "Do not worry about it my dear; it is difficult not to, laying next to a woman as beautiful as you."

Elizabeta laughed, but after a moment her eyes narrowed, searching for something in the dark room before turning back to him. "Who was she?"

"Who?"

"The first woman you loved."

He knew what she meant from the way she said it, could hear a tinge of hurt in her voice. Roderich's fingers pushed her hair away from her face. "I did not love her," he muttered. "I thought I did, at the time, but I know now I did not….

"But she was the first woman I made love to, a lovely lady from the Austrian country. She was a good person, too good for a corrupting court like mine." He hadn't meant to say that much, to let his anger come through. But Elizabeta caught it and sat up at it.

"What happened to her?"

She was so beautiful in the moonlight, her skin pale. He stroked the side of her cheek. "We do not have to talk about-"

"What happened to her?" she repeated. Ah, there was the fire he loved, the passion in her eyes.

He sighed, upset that on a night as perfect as this he was telling his wife about another woman. "She married," he finally answered. "She had a son. She died giving birth to him."

"What was her name?"

He looked into those green eyes and knew it was a question meant well, that Erzsi was interested in the story as a story, not as something to hold against him. He had told her before of Antonio, of what life had been like. She was always curious it seemed.

There had been plenty of women over the years, though Roderich never told anyone that. They had been beautiful things, pale and slender and always dressed in the height of fashion. Most of them had been Austrian, though the Spanish women had caught his attention as well, and a few Frenchwomen he just couldn't say no to. He liked them for their courage, for stepping outside their traditional roles as women at court to do something more, to be a little bit braver. He liked them for challenging him. For noticing him.

But after a few years they'd grow old, and he'd be the same as always. A few more years, and he'd still remember the face, maybe a few words they had shared. But soon enough they were gone, and so were their names from his memory.

What was her name? "The truth is," he whispered, "I don't remember."

The only woman he had always remembered, was Elizabeta.


	7. 4: 6 January 1870

**Tizenöt:**  
><span>Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world,<span>  
><span>Four moments they kept to themselves,<span>  
><span>Three times they said nothing,<span>  
><span>Two times Hungary needed Austria,<span>  
><span>And one time Austria did something about it<span>

* * *

><p><em>Love is not love<br>__Which alters when it alteration finds,  
><em>_Or bends with the remover to remove:_

Four moments they kept to themselves

**6 January 1870**

The dedication of The Musikverein in Vienna had gone smoothly, Roderich returning late in the night to their room. Elizabeta hadn't felt well for a few days, but insisted he still go the ceremony. While he had hated to leave his wife, he did love the music.

Elizabeta was sitting by the door to the balcony when he came in, dressed in her night robe. As Roderich shrugged off his coat, she quickly found her way to his side.

"How was it?" she asked, excited.

"Very good," he responded dutifully, kissing her lips, then removing his jabot.

"Were there a lot of people?" She helped him get his shoes and socks off.

"It was packed, Elizabeta." They shared a smile before standing, both of them knowing how much Roderich loved this concert hall.

"I am glad you enjoyed yourself," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, leaning up to steal a kiss.

"Umm," he responded before asking, "And did the doctor come while I was gone?"

"Oh yes!" she answered, more happy than he would have thought.

"What did he say?"

Elizabeta stepped back, taking both her husband's hands in hers. "Roderich," she whispered, her face lit up, her skin covered in goosebumps from the cold night air. "I am with child."

He starred at her for a moment, his eyes going wide, taking her in. No, he had heard wrong. That couldn't be. Nations, couldn't… all the officials had told him, as if he would ever forget….

"You're-" He took one cautious step forward, placing his hands gently on her hips.

"I'm pregnant," she said, looking up into his eyes. "We're having a baby Roderich, I'm having your baby."

Everything went blurry for a minute, the world quickly spinning around him. Then he lifted her into the air with a strength he didn't know he had, spun her around the room, pulled her up close to him, kissing her deeply.

She melted in his arms, hands pulling at his shirt.

"Erzsi," he moaned.

"Yes," she responded, just as breathless.

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?"

She smiled against his mouth before kissing him again.

* * *

><p>Somehow they found their way to the bed, hands fumbling over clothing, before making love all night long. Elizabeta was never satisfied, and Roderich would never say no if he didn't have to to sex.<p>

Laying in bed, their bodies covered in sweat, Roderich's hand found hers, intertwining their fingers.

"Elizabeta?" His face was turned towards her.

"Yes Liebling?"

"When- when are you due?"

She smiled, her other hand coming to rest on her lower abdomen. "August, he thinks. Maybe sooner, maybe later."

Roderich grinned like a boy given candy. "A baby," he whispered into the night.


	8. 4: 11 May 1871

Author's note: I'll put this here and on the next one, but this chapter hints at the next chapter strongly. So if you don't want to read that chapter that's fine. Just thought I'd give you a heads-up.

* * *

><p><strong>Tizenöt:<strong>  
><span>Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world,<span>  
><span>Four moments they kept to themselves,<span>  
><span>Three times they said nothing,<span>  
><span>Two times Hungary needed Austria,<span>  
><span>And one time Austria did something about it<span>

* * *

><p><em>Love is not love<br>__Which alters when it alteration finds,  
><em>_Or bends with the remover to remove:_

Four moments they kept to themselves

**11 May 1871**

The first time Gilbert came by with the little boy, Roderich and Elizabeta had decided to feign interest, to let him know they didn't really care he was visiting.

Elizabeta had been sewing at the time, sitting by a window with the curtains thrown open. In the background Roderich had been practicing a new piece, but the sun was too warm on her skin to leave her spot.

Gilbert, proud and stubborn as ever, came in unannounced, the poor servant who had been picked to accompany him running in after him.

"Well!" Gilbert shouted. "Come and say hello to the magnificent me!"

"Hello," Elizabeta and Roderich had replied in unison before returning to their activities.

A pale body threw himself on the chair across from Elizabeta; it would normally have been her chair, and, having anticipated him doing this, she had moved to her husband's chair. She hated when anyone else sat in Roderich's seat.

"Hello beautiful," he purred, staring at her. Elizabeta raised her eyes, daring him to say it again. He seemed to catch her anger and sat up quickly, not wanting to be stabbed with the needle in her hand. "Not in the mood today? Well, how about this for you?"

The Prussian gestured toward the door, where Elizabeta saw a young boy standing awkwardly. Her sewing fell from her hands, shock taking over.

* * *

><p>Roderich, having learned long ago to pay little attention to Gilbert, hadn't bothered to look at whatever surprise he had brought along. Fuming at the other man so brazenly hitting on his wife, he closed his eyes and swallowed.<p>

Then he heard his Erzsi's sewing hit the ground. When he looked to see what had caught her off guard, Roderich felt his heart brake.

The boy was taller than when they had last seen him, but still just as skinny. His hair was longer, and he seemed to have lost the childish build he had had all during the time Roderich had tutored him. But those eyes, those were the same blue eyes Roderich had thought he'd never see again, after news came back that the Holy Roman Empire had been dissolved. The little boy whom he had watched over for so long, whom Elizabeta had cried about for days though Roderich dared not go to her, that little boy was standing in the doorway.

"What- how- when-" There were so many questions, and no one place to start. "Where did you find him?"

Gilbert looked from Elizabeta to Roderich, seemingly trying to discover the cause of their confusion, before smugly replying, "Him? Found him years ago on a battlefield. I think they thought he was dead, but all he needed was some Prussian medicine and now he's good as new! He's my little brother!"

* * *

><p>No! It was the one word Elizabeta could hear, her mind screaming it over and over and over. No! No! He had died, the little boy she had loved had died! Francis had told her, caught her when she fell. How many tears had she cried? His shirt had been soaked by the time he left to tell Feliciano the boy he had loved was dead.<p>

But there he was, her little boy. She remembered reading to him, making him meals, taking him for walks with little Feliciano. He had been smaller then, but there he was. She knew it had to be him, she felt it in her heart.

"His name's Germany!" Prussia suddenly announced, Elizabeta's eyes snapping up to him. "But I call him Ludwig!"

Ludwig? No, it was wrong, that wasn't his name. Oh, what had she called him? She had sworn after he died she would move on, she wouldn't dwell in the past. There had been Feliciano to care for, and then she had married Roderich, and then the baby….

"So, he is the new country then?" Roderich asked behind her, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder. All she could do was watch the boy, who had stepped forward when Gilbert had announced his name. He eyed her as she watched him, just the way he always had.

"Yup! My little brother! Grr!" Gilbert had grabbed his brother in a headlock, making to ruffle his hair. The boy pushed the older man away.

"Do not touch me like that Brother!" he shouted. That voice.

* * *

><p>"May we…" Roderich's mind raced to find a way to get them alone, to be rid of Gilbert. "May we speak with him? We should acquaint ourselves with this new country."<p>

"Sure!" Gilbert responded, shoving his brother into the unoccupied chair. Gilbert then stood, excitedly looking from his brother to the married couple.

"Alone," Roderich said, his eyes sweeping from Gilbert to the window. He heard a, "Hmm!", then the door slam. Roderich's eyes snapped back to the small country.

Where to begin? "Ludwig," he started, unsure of what to say. The smaller nation nodded his head, watching Roderich attentively. "Ludwig, when were you born?"

"I became a country in 1871," he answered dutifully.

"Yes, but…" Elizabeta said. "When were you born? When did your… your brother find you?"

He blinked at that, taking in Elizabeta. Roderich looked too, saw the tears that were still there, the way she leaned forward toward this young German nation. "Brother found me a long time ago. I do not know when I was born. I do not remember much from before I became a country."

So that was how it was. Roderich had done many cruel things in his life, many things he knew God would one day punish him for. But the way Elizabeta sat, frozen, fighting back tears, oh that was unfair. If he did not remember what happened before 1871, he did not remember them. What had they done to deserve that sort of punishment?

* * *

><p>Over time, Gilbert came to let Ludwig spend the odd day with Roderich and Elizabeta. In return, Roderich had to suffer his wife being hit on for several minutes before she punished Gilbert. It was the neat little kick to Gilbert's groin that Roderich had found the most amusing of her punishments.<p>

Ludwig was sweet, underneath his seemingly unpenetrable layer of politeness. At first he had been awkward, Roderich and Elizabeta trying to hold back from letting known that they recognized who he really was, that they had known him in a previous life.

When Elizabeta asked him if he wanted new clothes, he had burst with excitement. "Yes!" he had yelled. "Please! Brother makes the tailors make me clothing he likes, I can't stand it!" And so they had bonded over a trip to the store, Elizabeta helping him find clothes he wanted, while Roderich watched the tailor fit him before paying and taking the two home.

Several weeks later Gilbert unexpectedly dropped off the boy, saying he had to run and would explain when he returned. As they had been on their way to mass, it had been very inconvenient. Elizabeta had giggled and taken Ludwig's hand, but Roderich was annoyed. He couldn't well take a Protestant boy to a Catholic mass, but he sure as hell wasn't going to miss it.

The private chaplain from the last military campaign was sent for, and made a quick mass in the little chapel in Roderich's house. The servants had filled in the back; Ludwig had been told to wait outside. But once the service was over and everyone began to leave, he saw the boy standing at the door, watching everyone. Elizabeta, taking Roderich's hand, went to meet him.

"What did you think?" she asked sweetly, taking one of Ludwig's hands in her free one.

"It was similar to the masses Brother takes me to."

"Those are Lutheran masses," Roderich said haughtily.

Ludwig blinked up at him. "Yes, but they are very similar."

"Next time," Elizabeta said, now taking both of Ludwig's hands, Roderich's forgotten for the comment he had made, "you can come with us then!"

Ludwig smiled at her. "I would like that very much Mrs. Edelstein."

The rest of the day was spent inside, a storm having come to hang over Vienna. Elizabeta had entertained Ludwig with a tour of the large house, the servants coming back to report to Roderich what they saw and when his wife still got lost. After dinner she put the boy to bed, Roderich watching from the door.

She was babying him. She had always babied him, but now it seemed worst, the boy's body beginning to show more age. His country was maturing, and quickly. There was still so much for him to learn; child or not, he was a country.

* * *

><p>Thunder resonated outside, the rain beating loudly against the window. Elizabeta's legs were thrown over Roderich's lap, the two having pulled a couch to the window to watch the storm pass. They had sweets and wine to share, fully intending to spend the night getting wasted and having sex. Every time lightning struck they had to take another drink; there was a lot of lightning.<p>

Elizabeta quickly downed her glass, laughing at her husband's face. "Sexy," he said. When she belched, he laughed too. "Even sexier."

She captured his mouth, his tongue coming to wage war with hers. He tasted of chocolate and wine. Hands began to roam, pulling her close, kissing her even more deeply. She signed inwardly, wanting what was about to happen. He began to lay her down on the couch when the doors swung open.

"What the devil-" Roderich said, a slight slur to his words. He sat up quickly, but forgot to pull her up with him.

Turning around, Elizabeta saw the small blond country standing in the shadow, his face puffy and red.

"What's the matter with you?" Roderich snapped; he always had a short fuse when he was drunk.

"Oh, stop it!" She hit him, his words having hurt the boy, who had taken a step back. "Ludwig, what is it?" she asked sweetly, pushing away all the thoughts of a naked Roderich taking her, his manhood buried deep inside her….

The lightning flashed again, and Ludwig jumped, running into Elizabeta's arms. She held him close, surprised. There were certain things he did that reminded her of who he had been, the way he said certain words or held his fork. But it had been a long time since he had run to her, frightened of the storm. She had always believed he had gotten over that fear.

"I'm scared," he sobbed, pulling the front of her dress. Elizabeta held him close, one hand cradling his head against her chest, the other pulling him on to her lap. He was much bigger, but he was still her little boy.

"Shh, it's alright, everything will be alright. It's just rain."

She rocked him back and forth as she used to when he'd cry, singing softly to him. Roderich's arm came around her shoulder, and she felt her husband pull her close as well, his other arm encircling the boy.

They sat like that for hours while the storm passed. Ludwig had never stopped crying, but he did fall asleep in their arms. It never occurred to them to put him back to bed, that they didn't have to stay like this. He had needed them to protect him, just as he always had. He was only a child.

"Erzsi," the purr came in her ear. "I love you."

A single tear fell down her cheek, her husband's hand coming to wipe it away.

"I will always love you," he added, still whispering. "I will never leave you."

"I know," she said. "But that doesn't make this easier."

He kissed her cheek lovingly, pulled her head to his shoulder. "You would have been a great mother Erzsi." She felt him swallow, and knew he was crying too.


	9. 4: 15 May 1870

Author's note: I put this on the last chapter but I'll repeat again: if you don't want to read that chapter that's fine, but a more specific warning would give it away.

* * *

><p><strong>Tizenöt:<strong>  
><span>Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world,<span>  
><span>Four moments they kept to themselves,<span>  
><span>Three times they said nothing,<span>  
><span>Two times Hungary needed Austria,<span>  
><span>And one time Austria did something about it<span>

* * *

><p><em>Love is not love<br>__Which alters when it alteration finds,  
><em>_Or bends with the remover to remove:_

Four moments they kept to themselves

**15 May 1870**

Elizabeta hadn't been in the mood tonight, which meant Roderich had had to go to bed with an erection. Part of him minded, but part of him knew it was well worth it.

She snuggled back into him, her back pressing into his chest, their light shirts slightly soaked with sweat from the heat. It was hot tonight, but he still held her close, one hand on her stomach. Roderich had never thought she could be any more beautiful, and yet she was. Every day he kissed her growing belly, felt for their baby kicking.

He wanted this baby, wanted her to come into this world more than he ever thought he could. As nations they were always taught they couldn't have children, but he supposed there were so few times a male and female nation were as close as he was with his wife, that perhaps no one had ever realized they could.

His wife moved, uncomfortable, against him.

Well, maybe they had been right, he finally admitted. Maybe they weren't suppose to have children. But this, this was a blessing. After all they had been through, all they had lost together, maybe this was something to make it all worth it. Something for Elizabeta and Roderich. He wondered if the baby would be a nation too.

She moved against him again.

He wanted a girl. A boy would be fine, but a girl was what Roderich really wanted. A little girl with Elizabeta's eyes and sweet smile. He could teach her to play piano, and buy her all the pretty dresses she wanted. He'd get new clothes too, Roderich had decided, he'd dress the way fashion dictated for his little girl. She was going to be proud of her father, proud of the nation she was born to. She'd have lessons in everything her heart desired, and everyone would love her the way he already loved her.

This time Elizabeta sat up.

"What?" he asked, blinking in the low light. He hadn't realized he had closed his eyes, having finally started to drift to sleep. Then she grabbed her stomach.

"Something's wrong," his wife whispered, pained.

He held her to him, fear suddenly washing over him. "What is it?" He knew what the answer was, but prayed it would be something different. Anything else. Not this.

"It's the baby," she cried softly. "Roderich…."

"I will go and-"

"No!" Erzsi grabbed the front of his shirt as she doubled over again. "No, don't leave me, please don't leave me!"

He knew he would be faster, knew he had to go, but part of him wouldn't let him. Roderich made up his mind and shouted for a servant, holding his wife close. Within the minute a servant burst in through the doors.

"Fetch a doctor, and quick!" he ordered. She looked at the Hungarian nation, then nodded, seeming to understand what was wrong. All throughout the house shouts went up from the other servants, several leaving to try and find the closest doctor. Roderich rocked his wife in his arms, telling her how much he loved her, over and over. It was all he could do.

* * *

><p>It wasn't meant to be, the doctor had said outside the door. He was sorry for the loss, understood how hard it was, but it simply wasn't meant to be. The baby was gone.<p>

After he left Roderich sent the servants away, telling them to leave for the day. Leave for the week. He didn't care if they ever came back, he just needed to be alone.

He wandered back to the room, to the chair someone had left on Erzsi's side of the bed. She was sleeping, thankfully, but her eyes were still puffy. They had been for a day and two nights now.

At some point he fell asleep holding her hand, waking to a crick in his neck, the sun streaming through the never-closed window.

"Roderich?" He sat slowly, kissing her hand before looking her in the eye. Tears were again streaming down her face; he wondered if they would ever stop.

"I love you Erzsi," he said.

"Roderich," she repeated.

"I love you so much."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no!" he sat beside her, took her face in his hands. She tried to look away but couldn't. "You didn't do this Erzsi, this was out of our control. I love you Erzsi, I have always loved you and will always love you, no matter what happens."

She stopped squirming but still refused to open her eyes. Finally she looked up at him, took a deep breath, and asked the question he had been dreading.

"Was it a boy or a girl?"

He swallowed hard at that, this time his turn to cry. He held her hands to his chest, kissing them over and over. "A girl," he gasped. "A little girl."

* * *

><p>The servants came back before dinner, bringing them food in the room for a week. Finally Roderich ventured out to the balcony, Elizabeta sitting upright in bed for the first time in days. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.<p>

Never had Roderich had a happy ending. Oh, there had been the occasional happy middle, but never had there been a happy ending. He finally came to be happy with Antonio, and then his husband was gone. He finally came to get a laugh out of the little boy he had loved, and the Holy Roman Empire was dissolved. He finally got the woman of his dreams, and now she was a shell of herself.

"Liebling," Elizabeta called out, her voice sounding underused. His back stiffened. "I love you Roderich."

He turned his head to see her, hands still grasping the railing for dear life. She was still as beautiful as ever, all that love in her eyes still there. "I love you too Erzsi." And he knew he always would.


	10. 3: 12 November 1918

Author's note: Thus begins the emo portion of the story.

* * *

><p><strong>Tizenöt:<strong>  
><span>Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world,<span>  
><span>Four moments they kept to themselves,<span>  
><span>Three times they said nothing,<span>  
><span>Two times Hungary needed Austria,<span>  
><span>And one time Austria did something about it<span>

* * *

><p><em>O no! it is an ever-fixed mark<br>_That looks on tempests and is never shaken;__

Three times they said nothing

**12 November 1918**

Let them take the land. Let them take all her land, she didn't care anymore. Didn't have the strength to. They could take everything, burn Budapest to the ground, as long as they let her stay with her husband.

Elizabeta sat at one end of the table with Francis; she wasn't sure if she was suppose to be grateful, but he was being kind to her, always had been. She didn't know why.

"Sign here," Francis whispered, leaning in and pointing to somewhere on the page that had been pushed before her. Officials muddled about next to them; some where hers, most were the victors'. She had worn the nicest dress she had left, intent on showing the world that she might be defeated, but she still had her pride. Years of being led by others had sent Hungary down a path Elizabeta barely recognized, yet she was still a country to be reckoned with.

Across the long table Roderich sat between Arthur and Alfred, who were much more forceful in their demands for his signature. He signed each line with a lazy hand, as if this was any other day, any other meeting. His officials were fighting more fiercely than hers were, but Roderich signed everything that was put before him with an uncaring ease.

Let them take it all, just let her keep Roderich. Tears silently rolled down her face, but Elizabeta made no attempt to wipe them away. Nothing mattered; she didn't care what anyone thought, just let her stay with Roderich. Please, please. Let him look up, let him smile at her one more time. When would they see each other again after this? When would they be able to next talk, to hold hands? She remembered the last night they spent together, the passion in their love making, the desperation in him that she couldn't quite understand. He must have known, Roderich must have seen it coming. But he had always tried his hardest to protect her, to keep her from the hard reality. He didn't have to, Elizabeta didn't need to be protected. But he always did so, anyway.

Because they had been in love.

"Please," she whispered, still watching Roderich, who refused to meet her gaze, staring at a spot on the table. Francis put an arm about the back of her chair, leaned in and pointed at another spot. If he was trying to be subtle, she missed it. If he was trying to shield her tears from the others, trying to make this easier on her, then he could stop. Nothing mattered anymore. Fuck the world, fuck them all. Just let her have Roderich. "Please…"

"Elizabeta," Francis said, "I know this is hard, but please, just sign here. I swear, this will be over quickly, but we can't let you leave with him. You have to know that."

"I. Don't. Care."

It was his sigh that caught her attention, made Elizabeta finally look at the exhausted French nation. Her eyes widened taking him in, recognizing the way he moved as trying to protect his injuries from further damage.

Francis's eyes met hers and she held him there, taking each other in. "Elizabeta," he said again, the sadness still there. "I know you love him, but it has to be like this. Soon enough you can be together again."

She shook her head. "How long will you make us stay apart before we can be together?"

The hand that had been pointing at the page fell from the table, found her leg, where he squeezed. "I don't know. But this isn't easy for anyone."

Any other day, she never would have let someone touch her like that. In her lap her hands played with her wedding ring, the diamond heart a symbol of their undying love. "It was never suppose to be like this," she said to herself.

From her leg the hand moved to still hers, one of Francis's fingers twirling the wedding ring around her finger so that the diamond and emeralds were pointed inward. "Don't let them see and I won't take it from you. He's almost done signing, be quick and maybe you can catch him in the hall…"

Elizabeta reluctantly took the pen that Francis offered, signed the papers. It was the last paper that was the hardest, the one for their divorce. She looked up to see Roderich push his signed copy away. Their eyes met for a moment, and she tried to send as much love and affection to him as she could.

But Roderich was dead on the inside. She couldn't see any of that life she knew was in him, any of the fire in his soul; it had all been extinguished. He had signed the paper without hesitation, without protest. Arthur and Alfred shook hands behind him before Roderich stood, slowly, heading for the door.

There had never been a choice, but she could have one last goodbye. Elizabeta hurriedly signed the page, Francis quickly moving aside as she raced for the door. Behind her she didn't see Arthur make to stop her, Francis gesturing to let her go.

She caught up to him in the hallway, his back to her. "Roderich!" she shouted, chasing him down, holding her skirt in her hands so she could move faster. He paused at the sound of name, but didn't move to look at her. "Roderich!" she grabbed his arm, stood before him, tried to look into his eyes one more time. She could hear men shouting down the hall to separate them.

Without making eye contact, he pulled his hands from Elizabeta's grasp. She expected him to leave then, but he surprised her with a tight hug, too tight to make her believe that he was ok. She made to wrap her arms around her, to make this moment go on forever. She had promised him forever.

Then he pushed her away, her back making contact with the wall. She slid down it as Roderich watched her, shaking his head. His tone was flat, no love in what he said. "Goodbye, Elizabeta…"

And he left.


	11. 3: 12 July 1941

Author's note: If I had to pick a favorite moment in terms of what I wrote, this would be it.

* * *

><p><strong>Tizenöt:<strong>  
><span>Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world,<span>  
><span>Four moments they kept to themselves,<span>  
><span>Three times they said nothing,<span>  
><span>Two times Hungary needed Austria,<span>  
><span>And one time Austria did something about it<span>

* * *

><p><em>O no! it is an ever-fixed mark<br>That looks on tempests and is never shaken; _

Three times they said nothing

**12 July 1941**

Roderich left the room slowly, officers rushing by on their way to what he supposed they must have considered bigger and better things. Gilbert clapped him on the back as he walked out the door, pulling a cigarette from inside his jacket pocket.

The smoke blew in the damp wind as he tried to make smoke rings, Roderich's mind wondering back to warmer days in the Austrian countryside, a beautiful brunette laying beside him. The puffs of smoke were less circles and more failures in his opinion.

"You never were very good at that," Elizabeta's voice came from behind. She sat down behind him on the bench, her hair already saturated from the moisture that hung in the air. She didn't look at him; she hadn't all day.

"Yeah, well," he muttered. "I was never very good at a lot of things."

Behind them men spoke in German, some of what had been said at the meeting, others of things to be said at the next one. Several minutes passed.

"He's gotten in over his head," the Hungarian said to seemingly no one in particular.

"Ludwig?"

"No, the other country with Hitler as his leader."

"Us?"

That caught her attention, her eyes snapping to his. How many days had he spent gazing into those green emeralds, lost in them, never wanting the moment to end? He remembers how they clouded when he'd take her, the passion filling them as he pounded into her… No. What had they been discussing?

She smiled half heartily, making to reach out for his hand. But Elizabeta caught herself, instead pulling her hat down farther on her head. She looked out over the German garden.

"We should talk to him. Ludwig. We should-"

"Nein."

Never in all their years of marriage had Roderich ever interrupted Elizabeta.

She turned to him, grabbing his arm. "We could stop this," she said, desperation in her voice. All Roderich did was bring his cigarette to his lips to drag on it, her arms going along with it. "We know him, we've known him for so long, we raised him…"

"Elizabeta." The name fell from his lips with a forgotten grace; he used to scream it as he came, thanking the gods that there was such an angel as the one under him. Had other men had her since their last night of sex? Roderich would have killed them if he ever found them.

Her hand tightened in gripping his arm. "Liebling." She whispered it, her mouth fumbling over the long-abandoned name she used to call him. "Please. He's still just the little boy we used to hold in thunder storms and take to buy clothing, please. Please."

Tears welled up, clouding the emeralds. He pulled his arm from her grip, taking another drag of the cigarette. "Stop it Elizabeta. Ludwig was never a replacement for the child we lost. He was never our son, never ours."

Before he even knew what had happened, the proud Hungarian had stood, slapped him hard across the face, then marched off. All Roderich could do was drop the cigarette to the ground, squashing it with his shoes.

"He doesn't have your eyes," he whispered into the wind.


	12. 3: 15 September 1683

Author's note: Hello and these are Hungary's breasts. Temporary break from the emo, but this was one of the first things written so the juxtaposition seems that much better in my mind. One of those, this is how they really met moments.

* * *

><p><strong>Tizenöt:<strong>  
><span>Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world,<span>  
><span>Four moments they kept to themselves,<span>  
><span>Three times they said nothing,<span>  
><span>Two times Hungary needed Austria,<span>  
><span>And one time Austria did something about it<span>

* * *

><p><em>O no! it is an ever-fixed mark<br>That looks on tempests and is never shaken; _

Three times they said nothing

**15 September 1683**

Elizabeta had taken to hiding most days. She didn't really understand what was going on anymore, if she were to be quite honest with herself. Her ministers would meet in secret with her, and talk of the Ottomans and Habsburgs and so many things she couldn't remember. But they had stopped asking her opinion long ago, so she never felt guilty not remembering. They only spoke with her nowadays out of a sense of obligation.

Her hair was a mess as she pushed it back, reaching down to take a drink of water from the creek she had found. No one was in the forrest as she moved about, and this seemed to be the perfect place to stop: high above, the canopy of branches parted to allow a small circle of sunlight to penetrate and reach the ground.

Laying in the sun, Elizabeta removed her jacket and boots. After a bit, she removed her socks. She was about to remove her shirt as well when she heard a rustling.

It was a young boy whom she had seen once or twice before at the capital, but only ever at a distance. Well, maybe not a boy, she thought as she took him in. She had sat upright at the sound, expecting it to be that damn Gilbert again. In the process her half-unbuttoned shirt had gaped open more, something the boy hadn't failed to notice. He might not yet be a man, but he was definitely not a little boy.

* * *

><p>Roderich had known it would be no good for him to go into the forrest by himself. Sure, his ministers thought it would be good for him, take a walk, be a man, all of that. But now he was lost, and hungry, and tired, and miserable. He decided he wasn't listening to anyone else after this, ever again.<p>

Which was when he accidentally stumbled upon her, taking the young girl by surprise. Well, maybe not a young girl, he thought as he took her in. Her shirt gaped open, and, without meaning to, his eyes darted to her… her…

Oh.

A burning crept across his cheeks, ashamed that he was staring at this lady's… well. His stomach tightened, and Roderich felt uncomfortable in a way he had never felt before. His body seemed to be reacting on its own, and he didn't like it.

Which was when he chanced to look up, finding her eyes fixed on him, watching him react. Watching him make a fool of himself.

So Roderich did the most gentlemanly thing he could think of, and fled.

* * *

><p>Well, Elizabeta thought to herself. She waited to see if he would return, but nothing happened for several minutes. The Hungarian laid back down in the sun, finishing with her buttons to allow the sun to warm her chest, and contemplating who had taken the news of her womanhood worst: Gilbert, or whoever that was.<p> 


	13. 2: 12 November 1918 later

Author's note: If you couldn't tell, I like Francis. This is a continuation of another chapter; I like the two parts together. And now you can probably see how all the moments are coming together.

* * *

><p><strong>Tizenöt:<strong>  
><span>Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world,<span>  
><span>Four moments they kept to themselves,<span>  
><span>Three times they said nothing,<span>  
><span>Two times Hungary needed Austria,<span>  
><span>And one time Austria did something about it<span>

* * *

><p><em>It is the star to every wandering bark,<em>  
><em>Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.<em>

Two times Hungary needed Austria

**12 November 1918**

Francis was the one who found her in the hall, arms wrapped around legs pulled tightly to her chest. He shouted something in French, and all the soldiers around Elizabeta left. He mumbled something in English to Arthur and Alfred: one of them went down the hall, following Roderich; the other returned to the room where they had been.

She wished they would have just shot her, the soldiers with their guns and bayonets, just stabbed her, in the chest, right through the heart, ended it all now. Roderich didn't love her, he couldn't have if he could leave that easily. He was the good Catholic, had always talked about God and heaven and the sanctity of marriage. Like it was nothing, he had signed it all away.

He didn't love her.

"He never loved me," she said, louder than she had intended. Francis sat beside her.

"Yes, he did." Francis took her hand in his, kissing it and turning her wedding ring back.

"Love is forever." They sat like that for a while, Francis having wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "If you love someone, you love them forever." If anyone else knew that, surely it was Francis. Surely he understood what love was really like. Maybe that was why he had always been so kind to her.

"I guess when you can live forever," Francis muttered, his head in her hair, "forever isn't long enough. Let him go Elizabeta. You can't save anyone but yourself now."

* * *

><p>Everything in the house reminded her of him. There were portraits of them in all the main rooms. There were photographs in the private rooms. There were flowers they had picked from the garden, dried together. There was the piano she had bought him, the desk he had had made for her.<p>

She stared at the bed for hours, the sheets still askew from their last night of sex. It hung in the air, all around her.

And in her mind Elizabeta raced through all the ways she would destroy it all. She imagined ripping the portraits from their frames, using a knife to cut through the happy faces, through the joined hands and close bodies. She would throw the frames with the photographs to the ground, the glass splattering and breaking and cutting at her skin as she ripped the photos in her hands. The paper would have curled in the fire, the flowers fueling it only further. She imagined making firewood of the piano, of taking an axe to the inner parts, cutting through the hard strings without mercy and smashing the ivory on the ground, throwing each key individually, knocking the desk down and setting it on fire. The bed would be treated no better, the flames licking and eating at the sheets quickly, making what had once been sacred a cemetery of dreams.

Then she would have laid on the ground and cried. She would have cried and cried and cried, the tears never stopping. She would have stopped eating, stopped drinking. She would have sent all the servants away, locked the gate, bolted the doors and windows. She would have laid on the floor and shriveled up and died, slow and painful, her body shutting down over time. Her country was dying already, what did it matter if she died too?

She would have thought of Roderich as she loaded the gun, as she tried to shoot herself. She would have hoped that he would cry for her, would miss her and feel a hole in his soul when she finally pulled the trigger, know the moment she had killed herself. It would have been her final act, to cut at him the way he had cut her, taking everything from him as if it made meant nothing.

Like worms in the earth.

Or a dog no one has ever loved.

Or a little boy left on a battlefield to die.

Or a small servant who believed in keeping promises.

Like the words he had promised her.

Or the nights he had stolen with her.

Or Gilbert losing blood, laughing at the wound.

Or Arthur locking himself up for days after Alfred won his freedom.

Or Francis announcing his monarchs were dead.

Like Ivan saying he didn't care what happened to those children he had loved.

Or Roderich signing the divorce papers as if they were nothing.

Elizabeta knew she would never do it.

But it scared her to think that she could.

"Roderich," she whispered in the empty house.


	14. 2: 5 November 1956

Author's note: The amount I have learned about the Eastern Bloc is fantastic, they don't teach you these things in America. One more chapter after this, don't forget to review so I know what to write more of!

* * *

><p><strong>Tizenöt:<strong>  
><span>Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world,<span>  
><span>Four moments they kept to themselves,<span>  
><span>Three times they said nothing,<span>  
><span>Two times Hungary needed Austria,<span>  
><span>And one time Austria did something about it<span>

* * *

><p><em>It is the star to every wandering bark,<em>  
><em>Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.<em>

Two times Hungary needed Austria

**5 November 1956**

The stupid waste of human life. Elizabeta hated it, hating feeling helpless. She was cut off from nearly everyone she loved, forced to live in a place she detested. Back home officials would send her word of hopeful futures, of maybe reopening relations between Hungary and Austria. But they were shots in the dark that she never really believed.

Nothing was worth the effort any more. Most days Elizabeta laid in bed; sometimes Gilbert would come lay beside her, hold her while she cried. She missed Ludwig, missed the way he looked at her with child's eyes like he used to when he barely came to her waist. Missed the way he used to be able to make Gilbert smile, make life seem normal. He was so big last she saw him, broken and exhausted and defeated but still so big and strong. The world would move on, she wanted to tell him. There had been so many wars, so much bloodshed; the world would move on and forgive him. He was too young to know it if no one told him. Who was telling him that now? Who was holding him? Certainly not Gilbert, he was here with her at Ivan's. Who was there?

Maybe Francis had found it in his heart to forgive Ludwig. Elizabeta hadn't realized how fond she'd become of the French nation until after she couldn't see him anymore. He had been the one to tell her how the little boy she loved had died, been the one to hold her after the divorce. He was still an asshole and she didn't fully trust him after everything he had done in the past, but she could in time. If he could come to forgive Ludwig, she could come to forgive Francis.

And Feliciano, with his loving eyes and sweet smile, how she loved that sweet Italian country. And Lovino, who was always in a sour mood, even when Antonio held him tight. She had liked spending time with the three of them, that little family. It reminded her of her own family she had once had, four nations together in harmony. Maybe one day they could go back to that, live in a big house again, far from war. This time Francis and Gilbert and Antonio would be working with them, and Lovino could come live with them too. They could all be together.

Yet no matter how hard she tried, all her thoughts came back to Roderich, the answer to every question she posed. He was the center of her world, a delicate web spun around that stupid Austrian nation who didn't realize how beautiful he was, how sweet he could be, how loving. When she thought of him, she cried her hardest.

Once, in the night, Gilbert had told her he loved her. That he couldn't replace Roderich but he could try to make her happy. Elizabeta knew he meant well, but it wasn't the same. She couldn't even kiss him; it felt wrong. And she knew he didn't really love her, not like that. They were too broken, had gone through too much together. She was still a man, in his eyes, and dresses and soft voices could never change that. She had always cared for Ludwig when he couldn't, that was why Gilbert loved her. Because she could calm Ludwig's tears when he was small, could calm his fears when he grew.

And Ivan, Ivan had tried to be nice to her too. Sometimes he took her on picnics, brought her sunflowers. She supposed they were gestures meant to be of affection, to make her feel better. He told her of his sisters, of long Russian winters, of the royal children he had watched be shot and how it had made him feel helpless. Elizabeta knew he shouldn't have said such things, that he wasn't allowed to think that way. That was the gesture she liked the most, Ivan putting himself out there for her. It warmed her inside, but it didn't fill her. Didn't consume her.

She was still married, still the ever-faithful wife. Not Hungary, wife of Austria, but Elizabeta Héderváry Edelstein, wife of Roderich Edelstein. The divorce papers had bore their country names, not their human names. They hadn't told anyone else of the second marriage, the one that got her the ring and the love and the daughter that could have been. Maybe Roderich had moved on after the divorce, forgotten about their human marriage. There had been other nameless women before her; maybe there had been more.

The thought of someone else kissing and holding and loving her Roderich was the hardest. Even if she couldn't be with him, Elizabeta just wanted to know that he still loved her. It had been so hard, after the great war: the divorce, and reestablishing relations, and the second war all too soon. His love had been the ever-fixed mark in the sky that she guided her life by. If she didn't have that star, what did she have? She just wanted to look through a window and see Roderich confess he loved her; it couldn't have been too much to ask for.

How many moments had they stolen for themselves over the years? Elizabeta couldn't even begin to count. They used to sneak off at night from the battlefield, shag in some abandoned building. They would leave ceremonies early, making love until the sun rose. During storms they used to hold each other, used to let the thunder fill them and the lightning blind them. They used to have it all.

What had they shared with the world? Given to their nations? Their first marriage had not been by choice, but they had been fortunate to have found each other. But if they hadn't shared it for all to see, maybe they wouldn't have been forced to get a divorce. Deep down, Elizabeta knew it hadn't been intended to last, but that didn't make it any easier.

What had they hidden? She imagined all the memories she knew she'd keep forever, all the moments she wanted to say something but didn't. Who else now remembered the little boy that became Ludwig? Surely they hadn't been the only ones to recognize him, her and Roderich. Surely they could have spoken up. She remembered that private wedding; it always made her smile. Roderich risked so much when he would come see her, but it had all been worth it, in the end, to have these secrets that fed her throughout the trials that had followed, kept her going.

How many times had they let others dictate what Elizabeta and Roderich were to do? She hated being a sheep but didn't know what else to do. Any path that brought her to Roderich, no matter the cost, had always been the path she had taken.

She felt Gilbert fall asleep beside her, his arms around her going limp. She heard Ivan walk by in the hall; he always slowed when he passed her door. When would she be able to make her next choice?

Elizabeta threw open the window, looking out onto the vastly different landscape than the one she knew. The one she called home.

Austria.

One more time she needed him before she died, that was it. To feel him, touch him, hold him, kiss him. Every day she waited for him to barge through the door, to throw her down on the bed and take her, mark her, like he used to. Was that too much to ask for?

The world was broken. Down was up and up could go fuck off. If only she could have yelled from the rooftop that she was a country, could share what wisdom she had gleamed from the world over centuries. Maybe they would listen then, the people in the street below, maybe they could stop the human waste. Who first said countries were supposed to do what their people told them? Maybe they had all gotten it wrong, maybe it had all been a lie told by officials who knew better. Whatever the case, it didn't matter. Nothing was right in a world that kept her from Roderich.

Elizabeta would have given anything to be with him, just one last time.


	15. 1: 21 October 1989

Author's note: Et maintenant, la pièce de résistance! Thank you to everyone who read all of this; let me know in the reviews what you liked so I can write more of it. Also feel free to ask me questions about any of the moments, I have no qualms answering them as some of you know already from my lengthy responses. :D

All the chapters are titled with what set of moments they are from along with the dates, so you can always read the story in the order it happened. I tried to make it flow so you could also hypothetically read it in chronological order, though the order I posted it in is the one I like and read it in.

I actually have a really heavy heart posting this, since it's the last chapter, and every time I look at this the author's note gets longer and longer. This will always remain the piece I'm most proud of. Rest assured no matter what else I write, AusHun is my OTP.

But enough with the jibjab, bring on the porn!

* * *

><p><strong>Tizenöt:<strong>  
><span>Five things Austria and Hungary shared with the world,<span>  
><span>Four moments they kept to themselves,<span>  
><span>Three times they said nothing,<span>  
><span>Two times Hungary needed Austria,<span>  
><span>And one time Austria did something about it<span>

* * *

><p><em>Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks<br>__Within his bending sickle's compass come:_

One time Austria did something about it

**21 October 1989**

Roderich threw open the doors to the conference room, his heart racing. He wasn't going to wait, he couldn't wait, he couldn't do it any longer.

A long oval table filled the room, chairs scattered about, though no one sat. Different officials looked up at the sound of the doors being thrown open; none seemed pleased. But they weren't the ones he had come here looking for.

Her back had been to the door. She turned slowly, seemingly unsure, until she saw him. Within moments she seemed to weaken inside, her eyes widening, her face becoming pale, her body pulling in as if she were in pain. The sight of her brought him back to the night they had lost the baby; what horrors had it been this time?

When had she become that skinny?

Had her hair always been that dark?

How old was her uniform?

None of it mattered. He couldn't wait, and didn't; Roderich nearly ran across the room, sweeping Elizabeta up in his arm, his mouth devouring hers. Once upon a time Roderich hadn't even let the dogs see them kiss; now the leaders of her new government watched.

One armed slipped around her tiny waist, going farther around than ever before, as he pulled her close. The other slipped up her back into her hair, twisting the roots slightly, pushing her head into his. Her shaking arms grabbed the front of his shirt, and if he'd cared he would have noticed the struggle of pushing him away and pulling him closer. In the end, though, it had always been Roderich; she would always admit defeat to him. She snaked the pale arms around his neck before pulling back. He tried to follow her, but she broke the kiss, putting a hand to his mouth.

When he opened his eyes she had already turned her face from him. "Leave," she said. "We want to be alone." His heart raced a little bit faster until he realized she wasn't speaking to him: she was speaking to her officials.

"Héderváry." One of them stepped forward. "We cannot stop at a time like this."

"Take your papers," she continued, her voice starting to betray a hint of weakness. "You do not need me, to do such things. We will meet again tomorrow morning, as usual. Now go."

* * *

><p>The once-proud Hungarian watched the men file out of the room. In the previous four days Hungary had become a republic once more, but there was still much work to do. So many things had to be done and quickly. She had to focus.<p>

The last one closed the door, and Elizabeta finally turned back to Roderich. Her chest hurt to look at him. There was a sadness in his eyes as he took her in, a pity that she never thought she'd see. She looked dreadful and knew it; there had been so many more important things than worrying about herself, so many things she had stopped caring about while living with Ivan.

His one hand removed itself delicately from her hair to stroke her face. Eyes closed as she pushed her cheek into that soft hand she had missed. When she opened her eyes, he was still watching her, just as concerned. He didn't look any different than the last day she had seen him, physically at least.

But she could tell he had changed. She had changed too. How many wars had they gone through, wars waged on the battlefield that always seemed to leave more mental scars than physical ones? But this war had been different, quieter, more subtle.

Those violets quivered, searching her face for any scar, any bruise. Roderich had always been like this, inspecting her to make sure she was alright, that no one had touched his Elizabeta. Even after the divorce, she knew he was doing it. When he looked at her his eyes changed. These were eyes just for her.

Her hands touched his face, fingers stroking the jaw delicately as if he was a statue. "I needed you," she whispered. "I needed you so. Many. Times. And you weren't there. You weren't there." There was no point fighting the tears; they would come, and she was kidding no one if she pretended to be strong.

"I know." His arm went back around her head, pulling her close. "I know Erzsi, I know. I wanted to be there. I wanted to know you were ok."

"I wasn't!" she screamed, grabbing that stupid cravat he always wore. "I wasn't ok! I haven't been ok! Not since you left me, not since the divorce!" Roderich stiffened around her. "I loved you damn it, I still love you! You ungrateful, stupid little Austrian-"

* * *

><p>Whatever word was meant to tumble from her lips next were lost when Roderich pushed her against the table, taking her mouth by force. His tongue begged entrance past her lips. Once granted, it swirled about inside her mouth, exploring places he once knew well. Her hips pressed into his as her upper body leaned back, the table pushing her into his growing erection. He lifted Elizabeta slightly so that she was sitting on the table, then forced her swiftly to lie back, pinning her arms above her head. She had long ago learned that when he did that, her arms were to stay up. As his hands traveled down the pale flesh, stay they did.<p>

Her tongue met his as his hands came to her breasts. He caressed her through the uniform, trying to feel the soft curves and swells, but it was no good. Pulling back from her slightly, with a strength he didn't know he had, he ripped the shirt open, several buttons flying off. Erzsi moaned into his mouth, her hands disobeying and coming to rake through his hair.

It felt so much better now, pulling up the white undershirt from where it was tucked in to run his hands under it, up to that tender body part of his once-rival he had seen so long ago in the forest. As his hands found those swells he loved so much, he pushed his hips into hers, grinding against her, one knee coming up on the table to hit her at a better angle. He was delighted to find that she wasn't wearing a bra.

"So… naughty…" he managed between their kisses, before trailing down her neck.

"Need you," she whispered, bucking up against him, causing him to grow only harder.

"Patience," he managed, sucking on a spot on her neck that had always been so enticing. His hands pinched her nipples, rolling them, as his unoccupied fingers pressed and grazed her breasts. She bucked again.

Lips trailed kisses farther down before taking one nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling about the hardened bud. Her hands pulled at his hair in an almost-painful way, causing him to groan deeply, pushing into her pelvis with more force. Once his tongue finished with one breast, it moved to the other, lavishing it as equally. His kisses circled the nipple; her breasts had always been the softest part of her, the skin here the only part that was never touched by warfare. He bit into part of the flesh playfully as his hands began to move lower.

* * *

><p>The frustrating thing about Roderich was that no matter what was going on, no matter the hurry, he was always slow and enticing, always ready for foreplay. He didn't need to be doing this, didn't need to be teasing her breasts, or teasing her, as his hands moved lower, fingers running along the top of her pants, grazing the skin. He just needed to stick it in, let her have the climax she had waited over 70 years for.<p>

Fuck doing what he wanted. Elizabeta's hands scrambled to undress his upper body, pulling off that stupid cravat he had thrown over his shoulder, pushing down the jacket. His shirts hadn't changed in the least, which made it that much easier for her hands to work from memory, and soon enough, Roderich's chest was exposed as well.

The expert hands found her arms, pushing them over her head again. "Erzsi," he muttered against her skin, his breath warm. It went right to her center, her hips thrusting against his, which had her pinned to the table, one of her legs pushed up to give him room. "Erzsi, you are being naughty."

She pulled her arms from his hands, wrapped them around his neck, and pulled Roderich into a deep kiss. "Don't care," she muttered, biting on his lower lip, before pushing him to stand up. Taken back, he did as she wanted, which allowed her to sit up enough to remove her own jacket and shirt. When Elizabeta laid back down, a lustful look filled Roderich. He placed a hand on each side of her hips, grinding against her.

* * *

><p>She always made his blood boil, doing things like that. God he needed her, needed to be buried inside her. But he liked to touch her, tease her, make her remember that he was in charge during sex. That she needed him as much as he needed her.<p>

But as he thrust forward, her eyes closing, her arms laying over her head, it was too much. Her hair had splayed across the table, her legs had come up to lock around his waist. He couldn't keep this up, not for very much longer.

They both groaned as Roderich pushed her legs apart, removing himself from between her thighs. He had dreamed of this moment for years, of how he would make her cry out, shouting his name for all to hear. He hoped secretly there were still officials on the other side of the door, listening. He wanted the world to know Elizabeta Héderváry Edelstein was his and his alone.

Practiced fingers made quick work of the boot laces, removing them, then the socks, before Roderich stood to have at her belt. He took one last look at Erzsi, who still had her eyes closed, a look of ecstasy on her face, before kneeling before her, pushing her pants down the rest of the way, removing them completely.

He kissed her through her panties, watching her face for her reaction. Several fingers slipped under the band, pulling them down slowly. It was as excruciating for him as it seemed to be for her, but Roderich didn't mind. He had to hear something first, something he hadn't heard in so many years. Needed it.

"Tell me you love me," he muttered, laying butterfly kisses on her thighs, on her stomach, everywhere but where she wanted them. "Tell me Erzsi, tell me you love me."

"I-" she started, panting. Her hands had come down to lay on her chest, her back arching and falling with each breath. "I love-"

One finger was inserted. "Nein; say it in German." He inserted another. "Tell me you love me Erzsi."

* * *

><p>His fingers curled inside her; her fingers curled in his hair to match. "Ich-" Breathing was becoming difficulty, the feeling in her center becoming too much. "Ich liebe dich," she finally managed. Saying it warranted a finger coming up to rub her clit, but it still wasn't enough. She wanted him to spoil her the way he used to, to lavish her with his tongue.<p>

"Erzsi," he warned, kissing her inner thigh. "If you want more, tell me more." Curse Roderich being able to keep a straight face while teasing her!

"Ohne-" Each word she said was a struggle, but she kept at it, wanting her reward. "Ohne dich... kann ich... nicht leben." I can't live without you.

That seemed to be the magical phrase, because within moments fingers were replaced by the tongue that had been in her mouth not so long ago. It lapped at her, teasing her, that finger still rubbing her clit. Elizabeta pulled him to her, as close as he could come.

All too soon it was too much, and she came on the table, his tongue still teasing, his fingers still rubbing and tracing her, her legs thrown over his shoulders.

When she laid her back back down onto the table, sweat covering her skin, he finally relented, pulling back and rising. As good as all that had been, they both knew it wasn't enough. They both needed completion.

His hands undid his belt buckle, slowly, pushing pants and boxers down together. That Austrian erection stood up, a sight that never failed to make Elizabeta moan in anticipation.

Roderich leaned forward, an arm on each of her sides, scooping her up and kissing her shoulder. His erection brushed her inner thigh, but he didn't make to enter her. "Erzsi," he muttered, finding that spot on her neck again.

"Please Roderich." As she begged, tears started rolling down her cheeks. At that he stopped his teasing to look at her.

One hand brushed a single tear away. "Are you alright Elizabeta?" The predatory look was replaced with one of concern.

"Please," she repeated. "Please, I need you, need this. I haven't- I haven't since you left, I haven't been with a man. I couldn't, you're the one I love- the only one I've ever loved. Take me, Roderich, make me yours again. Küss mich!"

* * *

><p>It was all the encouragement he needed, as he moved down to capture her lips in a devouring kiss. His hands readied her, and in one swift move, he had entered her.<p>

The feeling… oh, how long had it been? She was so wet, so hot. She was tight, she had always been tight and Roderich loved it. Her legs came up to wrap around his hips, pulling him in even deeper, until he couldn't wait any more.

The Austrian pulled out to thrust in again, more roughly.

Erzsi's arms wrapped around his neck, mirroring her legs, holding him to her as close he could get. One hand of his moved up to cup a breast, to stroke her side, the way he knew she liked it. The gentle rhythm he created was matched by her, her hips coming to meet his. They sped up together until Roderich shifted, trying to hit that spot before he came himself. Her tightening around his neck seemed to indicate he had hit it.

The other hand came down to where they were joined, finding her clit. How many times had Roderich wanted her since the divorce? How many times had she looked so beautiful? Looked so lonely? He owed her all he could give her, all the pleasure and kisses and love he could ever muster, for all he had put her through, all he hadn't said. Roderich was done running away, done being weak. He had thought that if he left without looking back, it would be easier for her. She would move on. Find someone else.

But he was wrong, he knew he was wrong as soon as he had signed the divorce papers. Now was his chance to make up for it, to be the man she had married and always believed he was. If Elizabeta needed him to be strong, then by God, he was going to be the strongest country he could be.

"Lie- Liebling…" She was the one who broke the kiss, her body pressing up into his. Roderich pulled back enough to watch as she came, screaming in Hungarian, her hands pulling at his skin, nails digging in. Taking it as his cue he sped up, slamming into her, trying to come as quickly as he could, to join her in ecstasy.

"Erzsi!" He buried himself deep inside her, finding a release he hadn't been able to manage in decades. When he finished, he laid on her chest for a moment, her legs still wrapped around him. It was a kiss to the forehead that made him perk up.

There was a wide smile and a glint in the eyes of Elizabeta. His Elizabeta. "My Elizabeta." She laughed at that.

"Always your Elizabeta," she replied coyly, unwrapping her legs so that he could remove himself from her.

"Forever and ever?"

She sat up, her legs dangling from the edge of the table, and reached out a hand to stroke his cheek. The hand followed the line of his jaw to his neck, across his collarbone, then down his chest.

"Forever and ever."

Roderich pulled her close, wrapping both arms around her. Their skin felt awkward, all sweaty, as they pressed themselves together, but they hardly seemed to notice. Elizabeta's loving green eyes found his.

"What?" he asked, confused by the look of joy on her face. There was something there, something… mischievous to it.

"You've changed."

"How so?"

"You've never taken me like this before."

Maybe he had changed. Roderich knew that as countries, they rarely became aware of how much they changed until after it had happened. War always surprised the Austrian country, who always seemed to have missed failing relations. His marriage to Antonio… he hadn't even sorted out how he felt when it had been happy, and before he knew it they were divorced.

And Elizabeta. He took both sides of her face in his hands. When had he come to care for her so much? When had he come to love her? How many centuries ago had it been? After all they had been through, how could he still love her more each time he saw her?

Roderich remembered their wedding day, the way he had longed for her to look at him with love the way she had looked at her people. He remembered her squeezing his hand, her smile wide. But mostly it was the eyes he remembered, and as she looked at him, that same love in her eyes now as on that day, he knew he had finally gotten the only thing he had ever truly wanted. The only thing that was worth risking everything for.

"I love you." He whispered it, his eyes holding hers; she had to know how much he meant it. How much he loved her, how it made his heart ache to think about it.

"Yeah," she replied. "Yeah, I figured as much."

Her laugh sounded both familiar and foreign, full of joy like it had been during their marriage, but forgotten as well, as if she hadn't laughed in a while.

But it didn't matter. None of that mattered. Roderich found that he was laughing too. He stole a kiss, then two, before she finally admitted, "I love you Roderich."

"I love you Elizabeta."

"I love you."

"I love you."

There could never be enough kisses to express their love.

* * *

><p><em>Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,<br>__But bears it out even to the edge of doom._


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